Back in June this year I posted the woeful tale of the evening in France when I managed to trip over a plastic waste bin and subsequently land face first on an unforgiving granite stone floor injuring my left eye in the process. I shall refrain from posting the wretched photographs of my own … More A BREAK FROM BLOGGING
She is blithe in Fantasia now, not a care in the world. Be it of legend or of history, the word of the vanquished yields legitimate evidence, a reflection of what once was. She turned the door handle yet found it locked. Thankfully, I knew where the key was kept. Not that that was … More CAPTIVE ASHES
When was it? 1922? Yes, 1922, that was it, The Bahariya Oasis in the Western Desert somewhere beyond a smouldering Cairo. Well, if the truth be told I’m not sure. I believe that was likely the year, certainly the oasis was the whereabouts. Whatever, that hardly matters now, it was the happening that was noteworthy. … More ONE GRAIN OF SAND
The stillborn moon, born of mother earth, sired by the sun, a blemished perfection, a gyrating mausoleum, its foundations, a lethargic magnetism. An old man winds back time, her image from long ago at his shoulder, reflects upon her charcoal lips, the echo of their days of carefree forbidden delights, all the time hearing the … More THE STILLBORN MOON
14th June 1940. The hasty words and deeds of the Sunshine Girl extinguished the sparkling lights of Paris, becalmed all passion that night the City of Love became the Shadowy City of the Mystified. No river boats on the Seine, Montparnasse bars, cafés, restaurants alike, all shut up shop. In her wake, just empty boulevards. … More THE SUNSHINE GIRL
Under the unsympathetic, blackest vault of a grieving heaven, an agitated bulkhead creaks, butch stringers snap, robust rivets moan in metronomic rhythm and herculean girders groan as a remorseless nor’wester’s kindred waves of replete urchins torment a rickety hull, of late in unbridled panic. Little wonder a weak-kneed full moon shies away. No place for … More POOR BASTIAAN?
All her life she had wanted legs. Proper legs with feet, ankles, calves, knees and thighs. Yet circumstance had afforded her nought but wheels, small wheels at that. Little wrought iron ones. Wheels that required constant care. Oiling and such like. Notwithstanding her shortcomings, she got out and about best she could. That is, until … More THE MAN IN THE BRETON SHIRT